


Whoopsie-Daisy

by DancingInRedShoes



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon
Genre: Accidental Death, F/F, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 20:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7069432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingInRedShoes/pseuds/DancingInRedShoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the HaruMichi prompt: "Her last words aren’t poetic at all. Just desperate" given by tumblr user DocHolligay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whoopsie-Daisy

_Her last words aren’t poetic at all. Just desperate._

She had always envisioned she would die in battle. Even before Haruka, she leapt at the chance to live like the sea, epically soaring and breaking, over her never-ending cycle of opulence, spirits, and small talk. It was soothing—a relief to imagine a warrior’s death. With every shout of “Deep Submerge,” she pictured how it would feel when the wave of her power finally broke over her opponent and herself. 

Now that she was no longer alone, she often fantasized about having Haruka by her side. Would they be killed by an unbeatable enemy? While the world collapsed around them, just being able to stare into each other’s eyes and hold one another? Nothing need be said in that occurrence; more could always be said by touch… Or would they work together to die as a trap and a diversion? She could almost hear the echoes of the Princess—no, Usagi’s cries as she was dragged away by the others; she could almost taste the quips and boasts she and Haruka would use against their foe.

In moments of longing or self-hate, she would brood over being cut down before Haruka. Whether by accident or, for once in her life, by doing the noble thing and being a shield for someone else, it did not matter. Oh, the tender words she would say, beaming up into the most beautiful face in the world! How Haruka would cradle her. How her last act would be to lightly caress her golden face. The strength of the fury-grief-void she would leave in her wake captured in one expression.

(In the back of her mind, she knew how she would die avenging Haruka. It wasn’t as important to think about as making sure that future never happened.)

But this? This was just ugly.

She had been performing just another concert at another theatrical performing venue of some sort. Playing had been moments of heaven, even though the acoustics had been adequate, and, whether it was her third or her fifteenth stop on the tour, people cheered and gave standing ovations the same. All she had left was the donor’s after party and she could go home to her bed and the person keeping it warm for her. Yes, that is what she would think of to keep the secret in her smile genuine when the simple compliments and requests she received were repeated from handshake to handshake to handshake. 

The world of the glamorous and genius had always been child’s play to her. 

She was the warrior-goddess Neptune, who had slaughtered monsters and could be intimidated by no man. 

_How did she fuck up this badly?_

She had been drinking champagne on the grand staircase. It was the best place to be admired from. It gave her a height advantage. She was bored. She was buzzed. She was cocky. There was an overly loud and obnoxiously drunk couple weaving down the stairs. Typical of the nouveau riche, just ignore it. The sound of laughter turning into a yelp. There is a sudden movement—

She is pushed off balance. Then she is pain.

The world is drenched in nausea and fear, and she is tumbling. Her head is slamming hard against cool marble again and again, and her shoulder is being wrenched as she grasps for something, anything. Fingers are crumpling, forced between her knee and a stair. Up is not down is not up but it is a crack and a sharp pain in her chest.

She’s not moving, but the world keeps spinning. Neptune, the warrior, notes the bruises down her calf, the shoulder out of its socket, the weird angles her fingers will never recover from, the concussion, the sharp pain in her chest, the fact that she can’t breathe right. But she is not Neptune now, there is no adrenaline or Senshi power shielding her from the brunt of it. Michiru, the girl, tries to react, but everything is confusing, and she isn’t sure if moving is a good idea, and the pain keeps drowning her thoughts. 

There is no monster, just stumbling drunks and people who are too proud. People who stopped believing in accidents and chaos too long ago.

She is panting, but it’s not helping. Blood is filling her lungs.

“Help me…” It is the plea of a broken girl in a sea of strangers.


End file.
